Jon found himself no better equipped to scale the stairs than the spectre had been. Even the idea of touching that banister repulsed him. Instead of using it, he crawled up the carpeted steps before frantically moving down the hall. He turned the handle to their room, tumbled inside, and immediately shut and locked the door.

“Paige!” he hissed, again and again. Her snoring was louder now. Not even his violent shaking of her body managed to rouse Paige from sleep.

The walls here were so very thin, every sound seeped through from the opposite room. Jon sat on the floor beside the bed. He listened helplessly, or, if he was being honest, feebly, to every awful noise that stabbed at his psyche; the thuds, the feminine screams muted by, what? A pillow? A foul hand? There was low grunting and creaking springs. The headboard thumped against the wall again and again, in a rhythm that should only ever be made by lovers. One of the room’s hanging pictures was knocked from its hook.

When Jon heard Alicia struggling to call out Teddy’s name, he dragged himself into the bathroom and shut the door. Not daring to switch on the light, or even to breathe too loudly, he crawled into the tub that was still damp from Paige’s luxurious bath.

*

Jon shifted, his limbs aching. Though he was sure he hadn’t slept, he was groggy nonetheless. He sat up in the tub and, against his better judgment, he strained to listen.

There were noises in the house, but not the kind he was expecting. Through the floor he could hear the chink of dishes and women’s voices. He recognized Paige’s laugh.

He climbed out of the tub and, with breath held, pulled back the door. Clear autumnal sunlight filled the bedroom. His and Paige’s suitcases were sitting atop the made bed.

Stepping into the upper hall, Jon had no trouble avoiding the closed door to Teddy’s and Alicia’s room. He descended the stairs, keeping his hands in his pockets.

Paige was the only guest in the dining room. When she saw Jon in the foyer, her only greeting was a lift of her eyebrows. She bit into a pastry, then reached for her coffee-cup.

The hutch by the mirrored wall was heaped with a variety of cakes and pastries. The silver coffee-urn needed polishing.

Imogene entered through the swinging kitchen door. Her outfit was in such contrast to yesterday’s attire that it took Jon a moment to identify her.

“Good morning,” she said. She was dressed in slacks and an oversized cable-knit sweater that was the colour of yellow sugar. Imogene placed another tray of delicacies on the serving table.

Jon pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Imogene was telling me that she’s thinking of only staying open for the summer from now on,” Paige said.